


gilt and glass

by Tale of Winter (Odyle)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odyle/pseuds/Tale%20of%20Winter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gold has to wonder if Belle's marriage to another is his unhappy ending, or hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to damalur: the best first reader I could ask for.

She entered Granny's carrying a box filled with bouquets of roses. After two attempts, Rosalie finally made it through the door.

It was the first he had seen of her in several months. He understood that she spent every waking hour working the till at her husband’s store, delivering flowers for her father, or singlehandedly operating the town library. These were three places he regularly avoided. He didn't have much cause to buy anyone flowers and even then he ordered them over the phone to be delivered. Mr. Gold employed a handyman to keep his properties up, so there was no reason to spend time in the hardware store. He had plenty of books at his home and no use for the other resources at the library. Rosalie, for her part, had never visited his shop. There was no cause for her to. She had no money to buy his wares with nor anything of value to sell off. It was little surprise that he had been able to avoid her for so long. Rosalie was a dedicated young woman, even if it that dedication was mislaid. 

No one had consulted him. 

He was the only person in Granny's aside from eponymous cook and her granddaughter, it being so late in the afternoon that it was almost time for the early birds to arrive for dinner. Mr. Gold had retreated to his preferred corner booth, where Ruby only disturbed him to refill his coffee up and to deliver his Reuben. He could watch the counter, undisturbed and unobserved by the woman who held his interest.

"Who are those for?" Ruby asked as Rosalie deposited her load on the counter.

"Three dozen red roses for a certain waitress. Someone has an admirer," Rosalie said as she sat down at the counter to pick rose leaves and other debris from the front of her coat.

Ruby leaned over the counter to dig through the roses for the notecard.

"There's no card."

Rosalie was busy unwinding her thick blue scarf from around her neck. Her cheeks had been pink when she’d come through the door, pink enough that he had noticed in the single moment she had been turned toward him. 

"Who ordered them?"

Belle shrugged. "I don't know. My dad took the order. He doesn't remember who it was, only that they paid for three dozen roses to be delivered to you with no card attached. I'm sorry, Ruby. I wish I could tell you."

Ruby picked the box up and carried it back toward the kitchen."It's not your fault, Rosie," she called over her shoulder. The waitress disappeared into the back, reappearing a few moments later, one bud tucked into the back of the ponytail she'd put her hair up in. "What'll it be?"

"Nothing. I should probably get going."

"I'm sure that you can stop long enough to have a slice up apple pie or a mug of hot chocolate."

"But I can't afford one," Belle said. "Especially not if I stay here too long."

While she protested, Ruby was busy plating a slice of pie with an extra dollop of whipped cream on top. 

"One slice of apple pie on the house," Ruby said as she set the plate down before Rosalie. 

"I can't take this."

Ruby pushed the plate toward Rosalie with her fingertips, as if she was hesitant to even touch the plate. 

"Too late, it's already out of the case. You have to eat it."

"I really shouldn't."

"How about this. Why don't you promise to try to find out who sent the roses? Deal?"

"Deal," Rosalie said, reaching for her fork.

Ruby looked up long enough to note that his coffee cup was not near the edge of his table, signaling the need to be refilled, then returned to her friend.

"So, what did Paul get you for Valentine's Day?"

Rosalie married Paul the same year she graduated Storybrooke University. They'd met in high school. Paul had been a football player and Rosalie had been class valedictorian. Their romance had continued to Storybrooke University. Their fairytale romance concluded, as many did, with a wedding. They had married surrounded by family and friends. Mr. Gold had not been invited, but he had certainly seen the wedding announcement that had taken up the entire back page of the Daily Mirror. Storybrooke was a small town and weddings were fairly rare, but the nuptials of Paul Lass and Rosalie French had attracted more media attention than their due. Regina had probably been to thank for it. Twenty-eight years later and he still had yet to devise an appropriate punishment for their mayor. 

"We don't really do Valentine's Day." She lowered her voice. "I'm not even sure that Paul knows it's any sort of holiday. He's bad with Valentines and anniversaries, and that kind of thing."

"Don't tell me that prince charming isn't so charming as he seems. You'll crush all of my dreams."

"Obviously there's someone out there who think's he's your prince. Or did you forget the three dozen roses in crystal vases I just put on this counter for you?"

Dr. Hopper came through the door with his umbrella clutched tight in both hands. The man couldn't have been more obvious if he'd tried. He wandered over to a booth on the opposite end of the front wall, where Mr. Gold could no longer watch him.

"Big plans for the night," Ruby asked as she filled Archie's mug.

"Nothing yet, but there's always hope."

"That's the spirit."

Ruby gave him a menu then returned to the counter.

"You should remind Paul that it's Valentine's. Or maybe he has something big planned for when you get home."

Ruby raised her eyebrows. His stomach turned at the thought, but Rosalie laughed.

"I'll be surprised if I have enough energy to make it back to the bedroom. I'll probably fall asleep on the couch _again_."

"Again?"

"Again."

Rosalie froze as her cellphone rang. She grabbed at her coat, until she found the phone. She said nothing when she answered the phone, only listened to whoever was on the other end of the line, leaning in close to her plate to eat as much of the pie she as she could before dashing off. 

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Rosalie said through a mouthful of pie, then hung up on her caller. 

“Paul?” 

“Who else?” 

Rosalie stood and picked up her scarf from the counter. She wound it around her neck again, leaving one tail running down her back. 

“Are we still on for Tuesday, Rosie?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.” 

Ruby followed her friend to the door, stopping her for a quick hug before Rosalie hurried off to the hardware store. She stood and watched through the window, then turned away and went to take Dr. Hopper’s order. 

Mr. Gold took out his wallet. He left a twenty on the table, enough to cover his meal and a generous tip, and went on his way. He had no desire to stay and watch the waitress and the doctor revolve around one another, never coming quite close enough to connect.


	2. Chapter 2

The faint sound of someone tapping on the front windows woke her. She had put her head down to rest her eyes, a headache throbbing just behind them, and now it was dark. The sound grew more insistent as she came around. Rosalie pulled the paper R that stuck to her face as she napped off, wincing as it tore off. She'd used too much glue on the poster she'd been making to advertise one of the programs she had planned. It had spread out from beneath the letter as she napped on the half finished poster and onto her face. 

A blonde woman was at the front door waiting for someone to answer. Rosalie recognized her as the woman from the front of _The Daily Mirror_ , the one who'd become Graham's new deputy. 

Rosalie rubbed her cheek and unlocked the front door to the library. The red mark the errant letter had left was obvious judging by the look the deputy gave her. 

"I just wanted to make sure everything was okay," the woman said. "Libraries aren't usually open so... late." 

"I was burning the midnight oil," Rosalie explained. "I wanted to get some work done for a new program while I had the time. I apologize if anyone was worried." 

Did you know there was an 'A' in your hair?" 

Rosalie put a hand to the ponytail she'd put her hair up while she'd been busy cutting out the paper letters and came away with another paper letter. 

"Thank you," Rosalie said. Her face flushed red. She could feel the heat even in the evening cold of a Maine winter. She was supposed to be at home with Paul. Instead, she'd called him just after closing at the library to tell him that she would be home late. There were microwave dinners in the fridge or else the remains of last night's casserole in the fridge and he shouldn't wait up for her. He was an early riser, having to get up early to open the hardware store. They saw little of each other while they were awake, and even then it was often only at his workplace. 

"Emma Swan," the deputy said as she pulled off a glove by one finger and offered the hand to Rosalie.

Rosalie shook her hand, then wrapped her arms around herself. It was a cold winter night at that, Maine or not. Her sweater, a thick one she’d gotten from the Sisters thrift shop a few years before, did nothing to protect her from the wind. After only a minute outside she felt her cheeks and hands going numb and the cold seeping into her body. 

Emma was quick to slip her hand back into the glove and readjust her scarf. 

"Graham has you out here covering the night shift?" 

"Keeping the streets safe from the roving bands of criminals Storybrooke is infamous for." 

"Did the racoons knock over Regina's trash cans again?" 

Emma sighed. 

"Would you like to come in for some tea?" 

"I could stand to warm up a little. Fighting evil can wait, right?" 

Rosalie laughed. She would like the deputy. That much was obvious. 

Emma followed Rosalie into the library and back into the little office where every surface was covered with papers and posters in preparation for the upcoming program. Rosalie had pull a chair in from the circulation desk so the deputy would have somewhere to sit that wasn't the floor. She hurried to stack up the posters that were dry, while not moving those that she had laid out but not yet glued the letters down on. 

"You've been busy," Emma said. She kept her arms close to herself and was careful of where she stepped. 

"At least I was before I fell asleep," Rosalie said, searching through the filing cabinet drawers in her office for the clean mugs. There was no kitchen in the library. She had to make do with a microwave and the bathroom sink. Rosalie rarely ate the library, preferring to go to Granny's for a sandwich on the house, though she liked to drink tea when it was cold like this. 

Emma picked up one of the signs. 

"'Great Tales: An Afternoon of Fun, Furry Friends, and Fables,'" Emma read. "So dogs?" 

Rosalie found two clean mugs and half a bear of honey. She took these from the drawer and set them down on one of the clear patches on her desk, then pushed the drawer closed with one foot. 

"It's one of our most popular programs of the year. A few of the people around town bring their pets. The kids take turns reading to them. The pets get attention, the kids get to spend time with an animal. Some children are nervous about reading aloud, but not when they've got a dog beside them. It builds their confidence." 

"It sounds adorable," Emma said, setting the sign back on top of the stack of completed signs.

"Would you prefer Cinnamon Spice or Earl Grey?" 

Emma asked for the spiced tea and Rosalie hurried off to the bathroom to fill the mugs with water. When Emma's mug was in the microwave warming up, she realized that they would need spoons. 

"I think I might stop by. I know this kid that _really likes_ fairy tales." 

Rosalie found a take-out spork, still in its original packaging, in among the pens in her top desk drawer. 

"Henry?" she asked. 

Emma nodded. 

"He's been coming in for the program since he started reading. Henry is here whenever he gets the chance." 

The microwave beeped. Rosalie put her scarf over her hands as an impromptu hot mitt long enough to pull out the hot mug and set it on top of the microwave. She set it to steep, then put her cup in to heat. 

"I would too if I had a mom like his." 

"Mayor Mills is a very particular personality." Rosalie pushed the teabag in Emma's mug down with the spork. "There are good things and bad things about her, you just have to decide for yourself."

"I'm sorry if I offended you, it's just that I haven't had a lot of good experiences with Regina... and it doesn't seem like a lot of people in this town like her." 

Rosalie shrugged. Regina Mills had never burned her. Contrary to that, she had helped Rosalie on several occasions. Few things were more valuable than good advice, and Regina had certainly imparted plenty of that. As her wedding approached, Regina had been the one to counsel her about her misgivings. Regina had prepared her for what she should expect and reminded her of what everyone else expected of her.

The microwave beeped again, breaking the silence. 

"What brings you to Storybrooke?" Rosalie asked as she took her mug from the microwave.

"Henry, actually. I'm his mom--or I'm his birth mom. He sort of came to find me." 

Emma sounded almost embarrassed about it. Rosalie wasn't sure if it was the subject of Henry or Regina that had brought it about. 

"That sounds like Henry. You should never underestimate him." 

"Believe me, I don't. That kid is crazy smart." 

Rosalie pulled the teabag from Emma's cup, enjoying the scent of cinnamon, then set the mug down in front of her to the deputy's thanks. She hurried to take a sip. Emma made a satisfied sound as she set her cup down again and wiped the corner of her mouth with one hand. 

"I assume you're planning to stay for a while?" Rosalie asked as she attended to her own cup. 

"Yeah, I guess I am. I'm living with a friend and this deputy thing isn't such a bad gig. I figure I could stick around for a while." 

"I know Graham is glad to have the help. Even in a town like this, sometimes he seems overwhelmed." 

Emma nodded. 

"What with all of the..." 

"Raccoons and teenagers," Rosalie offered. 

"Criminals. Just because we can't take the raccoons in for questioning doesn't mean that they aren't breaking the law." 

She had left her cup to steep extra long. Rosalie liked her tea strong, even late at night, and with enough sugar that even Ruby turned her nose up. Before tossing the teabag out, she wrapped the string around it, trying to press out as much as she could. There was silence as she concentrated and Emma watched her pour enough honey into the mug to cover the bottom. 

"So you're the town librarian?" Emma asked. 

"Part-time. The library is only open in the afternoons. I work at the florist and the hardware store, too." 

"Busy lady," Emma said. 

"My father owns Game of Thorns and my husband, Paul, owns Storybrooke Hardware and Paint. Sometimes they need help, so I lend a hand. Clean up or keep the books... that sort of thing." 

"Really busy lady." 

Rosalie smiled. It was nothing she hadn't heard before. Since she'd been old enough to do the math, she had kept her father's books in order. Paul's mother, knowing that her son had no aptitude for it, had skipped over him and gone directly to Rosalie to discuss the finances of the shop when she handed it over to Paul. It was a task she hated, but she had kept two businesses and the library afloat and generally in good standing through many hardships. 

Emma tipped her mug back to drink the last of her tea. As if he knew that she was finished, Emma's cellphone rang. She pulled it from one of her jacket pockets and answered. 

Rosalie sipped her tea, enjoying the way the slight bitterness of the tea and unrelenting sweetness of the honey played off one another. It was Graham on the phone and judging by the way the deputy's eyes widened while listening to the caller, it was an actual emergency for once. 

"I've got to go," Emma said, jamming a button on her phone to hang up on the sheriff. "You alright?" 

"I'm fine. I'll finish my cup and go home." 

"Don't stay out too late." 

Emma pulled her gloves back on as she hurried across the library. 

"If you need anything, you know where to find me."

"Good to know. Thanks, for the tea," Emma said as she dashed out the front door and toward her car. 

Rosalie followed behind her. She reached the door in time to watch Emma pull away in her yellow Beetle, then watched her disappear down the block. It seemed like a stranger hadn't come to town in so long. Rosalie wasn't quite sure what to think of the deputy overall, though on first impression she liked the woman. She locked the door and returned to her office to gather her things. 

It was 11:10 by her watch. The warm-up of tea had done nothing to wake her up, but had instead warmed her and reminded her of being warm in bed. By now, Paul would be asleep. He was opening the hardware store the next morning. Rosalie opened the store that morning and felt little rested from the nap she'd taken. Faced with the prospect of walking home two miles in the nighttime streets of Storybrooke, Rosalie found herself reaching for her coat and the little pillow she kept in her bottom desk drawer. She cleared her desk of the unfinished posters and her mug of tea until she had a clear space to set down her pillow. Rosalie sat down and draped the coat over her own shoulders. It wasn't the most comfortable place in the library to sleep, but she didn't care to have Emma Swann catch her sleeping on the storytime rug if she decided to come back and check that Rosalie had kept her word and gone home. Tomorrow she would go home at a decent hour and sleep in her own bed.


	3. Chapter 3

The spinning wheel creaked as he idly turned it. It needed to be greased before he spun again, but he couldn't find the motivation either to tend to the creak or spin straw into gold. There was little point in it. He had more gold than he could ever spend, not that he had to pay for anything. He was Rumpelstiltskin. If he couldn't obtain it by magic, he could always demand it in tribute. Spinning straw into gold was more a pastime anyhow, something to fill the quiet hours. 

This was the way things had been many times before, but he couldn't remember it being ever so lonely. He had been alone most of his life. For what was only a fleeting moment in the face of the centuries he had lived, there had been someone else. But now that was over and things were back to the way they had been and rightly should be. 

However, no matter the rightness that he, a monster, should be alone, Rumpelstiltskin could not help but think about her and wonder what she might be doing. It felt as if a piece of himself was missing, one that couldn't be filled by more gold or mischief. He felt more exposed than he had in over a hundred years. He almost felt human. 

The spinning wheel creaked as he turned it, breaking the silence that loomed over the castle since she left. 

The doors to the main hall flew open, but he kept his place. He knew his visitor and felt no need to greet her. Regina invited herself in wherever she wished to go. She was no threat to him. Once she had been his pupil and, though she was wont to forget it, she knew well enough not to challenge him in his own hall.

"Have you heard the joyful news?" Regina asked. 

Rumpelstiltskin ignored her. Sooner rather than later, she would give up and go away. The woman thrived on attention and power. Deprived of either, she would slink away to find someplace where both were to be had.

he wheel creaked whether he turned it backward or forward. The creak was quieter as he turned it quickly. He tested how slowly he could turn the wheel and still make it cry out. 

"Are you listening, Rumpelstiltskin? Your maid has married. The pretty one with the curls that you liked so much." 

"What should I care?" he asked. 

"I understood that you were _close_ with her. I thought I would do you a favor by bringing this news to your desolate little corner of the world since you've gone into hiding." 

"I'm not hiding," Rumpelstiltskin hissed. 

Regina's boots tapped a steady slow beat as she paced behind him.

"It was the most beautiful ceremony. It is midwinter in her land, but pretty little Belle had a crown of hot-house flowers. Some of the peasants walked all night to bring them from the neighboring kingdom. She was so grateful when they put that crown of flowers on her head. The poor thing was close to tears all day, but she was beautiful nonetheless, just like a bride should be. And that's to say nothing about Belle and her beau. They make a lovely couple. So young and beautiful together. They're going to spend the rest of their lives together--" 

"Leave," Rumpelstiltskin told her, turning the wheel slow, half hoping to drown her out.

He had few thoughts but for Belle. Strange to him how he spent more time thinking about her now that she was gone than he ever had when she had lived there with him. When she had dwelled in the castle, seeing her again had never been an uncertain thing. When he wished to see her, he need only find whatever room she had wandered into or where she'd sat in the rose garden. They shared breakfast and lunch and supper every day and when she was lonely, as was often the case, she would seek him out. When Belle had lived in the castle, she had seemed to enjoy his company. Now he wondered if she only sought him out for lack of other companionship. 

He cursed Regina, but himself as well. It was no wonder she'd left and not come back. He was a monster. 

"Shame, Rumpelstiltskin. I would have thought you would be happy for Belle. She found true love," Regina said. She leaned over his shoulder, putting a hand on the spinning wheel and bringing it to a halt. "Or are you jealous? Did you hope that a pretty woman like her could love a monster like you?" 

Regina laughed. 

Rumpelstiltskin knocked her hand away and reached for a handful of straw. He had no intention of spinning, but every intention of ridding himself of Regina's company. He wanted to be alone to enjoy his misery and forget Belle. 

"You've had your fun. Best that you leave now." 

She pulled her hand away and began to pace again. 

"You're no fun." 

"Then you can leave."

"I hope you've learned your lesson," Regina grumbled. "No one has ever loved you and no one ever will. At least poor Belle is safe now, far away from you. She's married now and soon she'll forget about you."

With a flick of his hand, he propelled Regina out of the hall door and barred her from entering again. If she wanted attention, she could find it elsewhere. He had a wheel to tend to, straw to spin, and a lovely young woman to forget. 

He tossed the handful of straw back into the basket and gathered a rag and vial of oil, because some things were better not done by magic. With great care, he oiled the wood. When Rumpelstiltskin was finished, the wood was silent, there was only the sound of spokes cutting through the air.


	4. Chapter 4

Paul called her while she was helping her father load flowers into his delivery truck to tell her that the hardware store's van had broken again. When her father and his flowers had been squared away, Rosalie rushed to the hardware store to see what she could do. Paul was supposed to be making a delivery of lumber to Regina's house, but the van's engine refused to turn over when he tried to start it. Rosalie checked the fluids and belts and everything else she knew how to check. As she eliminated familiar parts from the list of possible problems, the problem grew more and more likely to be expensive. 

"Did you figure it out?" Paul asked when she came into the shop to deliver the bad news. He had gone inside when Rosalie had popped the hood on the van, giving it up for dead, but telling her that she might as well amuse herself by giving the engine a once-over. 

"We'll have to take it to the mechanic," Rosalie said. 

She stood in front of the counter, rubbing her hands together and trying to warm up again before going back outside and to Game of Thorns to take care of some record keeping. When Paul had called about the van, she had been in such a rush that she had left her gloves sitting on a work table in her father’s shop. 

"I told you, sweetie, but you didn't believe me." 

"There's no reason to spend the money if I can fix it myself. We don't exactly have much to spend." 

“When you take it in, ask them if they do a payment plan,” Paul said. He was tapping away at a text on his phone while he spoke. 

“Why would we need to set up a payment plan?”

Paul sighed. He tucked his phone into his apron pocket and came around the counter to put his hands on her shoulders. Rosalie hated the gesture. When he placed his hands on her shoulders, she knew that she wouldn’t like what he had to say. Paul seemed to think it was a gesture of comfort, but it only made Rosalie’s stomach turn in anticipation of what was sure to be bad news. 

“It’s the end of the month. Things are tight.” 

“We have an emergency fund for things like this.” 

Paul ran his hands over the curve of her shoulder and down to squeeze her upper arms. Rosalie pulled away, crossing her arms in front of her. 

"What did you do with the money?" 

"I ordered a new key duplicator."

"Did the old one break?" Rosalie asked. She'd heard nothing about the old key duplicator breaking down. It was only six years old, though they used it every day. 

"It was getting old. This one’s fully automatic. "

"The old one was automatic too." 

Paul was silent. He looked almost sheepish. 

If it sounded impressive, Paul was likely to invest in it. He was reckless with money. It was part of why Rosalie had taken charge of their finances. Her caution was the only thing that had preserved the business through the inevitable financial meltdowns that resulted from Paul's lack of awareness. 

She stood there before him, cursing herself for not noticing that the money was gone before it came to this. 

"You'll find the money," Paul said, waving her away. "You always do." 

In the past, finding money hadn’t been difficult, but the tides had been turning against them. The hardware store had had a rough few months financially. They had made fewer sales in the last quarter than they had any other time in the store's history. There was no competition in town, yet Rosalie found herself scraping together every last unclaimed penny just to make rent. The local bank wouldn't make a loan to her. Paul had bad credit and hers was tarnished by association, not to mention that they had little in the bank and even less hope of adding to it. 

Ruby gave her an apple turnover in sympathy. Rosalie had come in to tell her story after finishing up at Game of Thorns for the day. She needed a sympathetic ear and knew that she would find it in Ruby, even if her friend could do nothing to help. 

"This is the worst thing that could have happened," Rosalie said. 

"At least you still have each other?" Ruby offered. 

Rosalie gave her friend a look, one they both understood well, then focused on cutting the flaky dough with the side of her fork. 

"Maybe you can get the loan from your dad."

"He's barely doing better than us. I couldn't ask him to. I wouldn't want him to even if he had the money to lend." Rosalie looked down the counter to make sure that the other patrons of Granny's were not listening in. Gossip traveled fast in a small town. "I'm not sure we would even be able to pay back a loan if we got one," Rosalie said. 

Ruby considered this for a moment. 

"Maybe you could work for someone. Get another job. Of course, when are you going to work another job? You barely have time to sleep as it is." 

"I'll think of something," Rosalie said. She herself did not believe it, but it was reassuring to hear regardless of the truth or lie behind it. 

The question of where to get the money to repair the van preoccupied her. Rosalie went over the options in her head, slowly ticking them off one by one over and over with great dread. She couldn’t go to her family or friends. The talents and time she had were both tapped out. Paul had thrown out the old key duplicator so there wasn’t even the possibility of selling that.

There was only one option left to her. It was an option she hadn't wanted to investigate, but, as Rosalie ruled out every other option one by one except for closing down the store, reaching out to him began to seem like the only viable option. If anyone could appreciate the need for to have the van repaired, it would be him. They wouldn't be able to pay him if they didn't get the van repaired. 

People said that he was awful and horrible, but no one had a choice but to do business with him. He owned most of the town, rich off of the rents that everyone paid to him. Mr. Gold wouldn't miss a thousand dollars. People made deals with him all of the time worth far more, but the prospect of asking him for the money frightened her. He would name his own price. If she was not willing to pay it, then the whole thing would crumble. The hardware store would go under and there would be no hope of saving it. 

She sat down at the kitchen table the night before. On the little notepad she usually used for grocery lists, Rosalie wrote out her reasoning. She prepared a small speech for Mr. Gold. Impassioned pleas, she knew from observation, did nothing to sway Mr. Gold. Logic worked only slightly better to move him, but it was all that she had. 

Paul was in the living room, enjoying a beer and a football game all the while. Her progress came in fits. Paul always seemed to be calling for something else. A beer, food, her companionship for the replay of a particularly enjoyable touchdown. When the game was over, she'd had time to edit the explanation down to one little page. She looked over it one more time as she packed their lunches for the next day, then tucked it in her purse and went to join Paul in bed. Tomorrow she would make her case. Rosalie had no clue what she would do if Mr. Gold turned her down. She tried not to think about the possibility.


	5. Chapter 5

There were no customers all morning. Things were much more peaceful things when all of his customers were kept at bay by the weather. No annoying questions or window shoppers. The rain had started overnight and showed no signs of moving on. On occasion it would slacken, but return with just as much force shortly after. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t mind. He had plenty to do even if there was no business to be done. 

Rosalie Lass entered his shop in a hurry to get out of the rain. Her umbrella, half closed, preceded her into the shop. In the moment she had been exposed, the rain had soaked her hair, weighing down the usually resilient curls. Rumpelstiltskin hoped she would leave and soon. This invasion of his space was neither welcome nor expected, though he was curious as to what would lead her to come to his shop. It certainly wasn't to make a purchase. 

Rosalie hesitated just inside the door, unsure of what to do with her wet umbrella in a shop full of expensive things she couldn't pay to replace. 

"Leave it by the door," Mr. Gold directed. "Let me know if you have any questions." 

Rosalie nodded and slipped it into the umbrella stand next to the umbrella he'd carried in that morning. She readjusted her bag and turned to look at one of the cabinets as casual as if she came in to browse often. 

He wondered what could bring her in. She'd paid the rent for the month; it was too early for her to beg for an extension on the next month's rent. Rumpelstiltskin knew enough of her finances to know that she had no money to spend, not that she had been much for frivolous spending when he had known her in their world. Incautious, perhaps, but that had been bravery, not foolishness. Here, as he understood it, she was a responsible young woman who met the expectations of others. 

Rosalie stopped next to the locked bookcase where he kept antique texts. She leaned in close to the shelf to inspect the titles on the spines. Few were in English. A few were in Latin, but most were written in languages which had been lost to time. 

"See something, dearie?" he asked. He kept his attention on that morning’s newspaper, if only to keep himself from staring at her. It was a natural reaction he had yet to tame. 

More than a hundred years since they kissed and yet familiar feelings washed over him as if it had been only yesterday. As much as he wanted her to leave, he wanted her to stay so that he could watch her. There was no hope of a relaxed conversation over a meal or walk into town, but at least, as she browsed his wares, he could watch her. Underneath all of the things that had changed, the things that were different about her in this world, she was still the same person. She tilted her head at the same angle when inspecting something that fascinated her. Belle kept her hand on the strap of her bag, though it was worn across her body and should have been no concern. "I can bring it out of the cabinet if you would like to look at it." 

"No," Rosalie said. "Thank you," she added as an afterthought. 

He shrugged for show and turned back to the paper, though it couldn't hold his attention as she made her way around the outer end of the shop, closer to him with each step. Her shoulders rose, as if she had taken a deep breath. Rosalie turned away from the display on the wall and toward him. 

"I'd like to talk to you about something," she said. 

"Well, what is it?" 

"Will you hear me out? I mean, will you listen and consider what I have to ask you?" 

"I'll listen, but I cannot promise that I will consider anything. Now out with it." 

Rosalie stood before him, just on the other side of the counter. He could look at her now, in her eyes even. He didn’t have to pretend to be absorbed in the paper and unconcerned by her presence. The light in her eyes had not changed. It had not been dulled by hardship or disappointment. She was as much resilient as she was a fool. 

"My husband's van has broken down and we can't make any deliveries. If we can't deliver anything, we won't be able to make rent for next month. I wanted to know if we could make an arrangement and you could lend us the money to have the van repaired." 

It would figure that Paul Lass would send his wife to do his dirty work. He had always wondered why Belle had been engaged to marry Gaston. She was a kind soul and a brave one. Gaston was neither, in this world or in theirs, nor was he any braver or responsible in this world than he had been in the past. 

"What makes you think I would loan you and your boor of a husband of yours a penny? Rent on that shop of his is criminally low. Now you come to me asking for money. "

He reached for his cane, where he'd leaned it against the front counter, and picked it up as he stood. 

"I thought that you would be reasonable. I have no where else to turn. Believe me when I say that I didn't want to ask you." 

"Did you think that I would just give you money?" 

"No," she snapped. "I thought that we would be able to work out a deal."

"I only enter into deals that might be profitable for me. Anything to do with that husband of yours will only lose me money." 

“I understand if you need time to think about it,” Rosalie said. 

“My answer is no. Leave before I call the sheriff.” He gestured toward the door with his cane hand while he pulled his cellphone from his pocket with the other. 

Rosalie paused for a moment. He could see the disappointment. A more seasoned or less honest beggar might not have let their emotions play out to plainly across their face. She turned and stalked toward the door. The soles of her rain boots were still damp and left footprints down the center aisle of his shop. 

"Wait," he called. 

Rosalie stopped. Her hand was on the door, ready to pull it open and make her escape, without her umbrella, Rumpelstiltskin noted. The set of her shoulders was tense. She did not turn to look at him, but stood there with her back turned, as if she waited for him to give her a reason. 

He didn't care that he was inviting trouble . As much as he tried to distance himself, he still cared about her. 

“I’ve reconsidered. There might be a deal we could make."


End file.
